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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416176">I Wish We Met Before</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkymonkey99/pseuds/funkymonkey99'>funkymonkey99</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2020 L'Manberg Election on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Dead Toby Smith | Tubbo, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Heathers References, Hurt Alexis | Quackity, Jschlatt Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt is Toby Smith | Tubbo's Parent, M/M, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP Spoilers (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Morally Ambiguous Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Past Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Karl Jacobs, Ram Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sad Alexis | Quackity, Song: Dead Girl Walking (Reprise), Winged Alexis | Quackity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:54:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkymonkey99/pseuds/funkymonkey99</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Quackity recalls a time with Schlatt and desperately wishes things could have been different.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis | Quackity &amp; Jschlatt &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs, Jschlatt &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Wish We Met Before</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wish we’d met before they convinced you life is war.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity stares at Schlatt’s lifeless body, a heap of suit on the floor. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To be honest, Quackity is underwhelmed. He’s thinking it would be bigger. This is Schlatt. President of Manberg. And...he is dead. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity couldn’t tell what he’s feeling. When you’re under someone’s thumb for so long, fresh air can be just as upsetting as choking. Quackity’s upset to feel tears in the corners of his eyes. He’s angry to feel his wings twitching from the effort to hold them in. Why is Quackity upset? What is the reason? This is the shithead who made Big Q’s life hell and told him it was heaven. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you kill it, I’ll brush your wings later.” Schlatt had said, his eyes gentle and promising. Quackity glanced at him and saw everything. He wasn’t stupid like they all said. He wasn’t under the belief that Schlatt was good and that all the torture he put Quackity through was a necessity. Quackity knew all of it. And he also knew that somewhere under Schlatt’s suits and speeches and horns there was the man who was Tubbo’s father. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity wished, oh god how he wished, that they had met before this. Before war and before everyone around Schlatt had convinced him that life would only ever be war. If he could go back to when Schlatt had been who he truly was, everything would have been different. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They weren’t two people. Schlatt and Schlatt. They were combined. Quackity didn’t kid himself with the idea that Schlatt back then was any better than the Schlatt-shaped lump on the floor. Quackity couldn’t fix people’s opinions. He couldn’t change their perception. What he looked like to them was Schlatt’s poor little play thing, tricked over and over and still devoted to his master. That wasn’t true. It wasn’t at all. Why couldn’t Schlatt tell them, it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Schlatt’s fault, he was never this to begin with. People, people like Dream, and Tommy, and Wilbur. They had made him like this. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They had forced him to see life as a battlefield. They convinced him, with their ultimatums and their shiny weapons, that life was a big war. And then, even worse, they poured poison into his ears and told him he could win the war. What fucking assholes. He couldn’t win. It was war! There are never any winners, he wanted to scream. You took a father who wanted peace and you convinced him that he had to fight and he had to win, and you lied with your silky flags and your diamond swords, Quackity wanted to say to them all. What was Schlatt supposed to do? Lay down? Let them destroy his life openly rather than sweetly? For fuck’s sake.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity thought about the Schlatt that he had seen in pictures. Tall, calculating, protective. Fiercely protective. He thought about waiting for Schlatt to arrive home after meetings and wars, waiting for him to acknowledge Quackity and only getting haggard, drunken looks.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”You. What’re you doing here?” Schlatt’s words slurred. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does it matter? You won’t remember tomorrow even if I tell you. I’m here to talk about Tubbo.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”I don’t want to fucking talk about Tubbo. What I want is for us to have a stiff drink.”  Schlatt stumbled.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Christ, thought Big Q. He’s pissed. Nothing would get through.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watched Schlatt wipe the photos of Tubbo and him off the mantelpiece. The shattered and Quackity flinched. If Schlatt was in an angry drunk mood, he needed to get out before the anger swapped from photos to people. Quackity slipped on some shoes and pulled his hat over his ears.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Where the fuck do you think you’re going, huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Out. I’m not your damn cleaner or secretary. I’m your friend, for fuck’s sake.” Quackity rubbed his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Schlatt lumbered towards him, alcohol reeking, eyes angry. He grabbed Quackity by his collar and yanked him, glaring down at him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You motherfucker. You- I’m going to kill you, you know that? I’ll make you regret ever being born-“ Schlatt vomited onto the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity grimaced, tempted to laugh at this pity display of power. He let out a small chuckle, one that was less of a laugh and more of a mock. He forgot Schlatt’s hand on his collar.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The grin tightened and Schlatt took a swig from the hand holding the bottle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think this is funny? You think this is all funny? Fuck you, fuck you,” Schlatt’s breath, hot and stinking in his ear. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing at all. Look at you, you pathetic little man. You think I care about you? You think I love you?” Schlatt sneered. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity showed nothing in his face, he had heard this before. Only if it was said sober would he end up listening. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come with me,” Schlatt said, leading him out the back door and into the yard.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Kill it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity looked at the chicken wandering around the courtyard.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”If you kill it, I’ll brush your wings later.” The malice was gone from Schlatt’s voice, he almost sounded like the drunkenness had fallen out of him along with the vomit.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity froze. His duck wings fluttered anxiously, his anger mixing with desperation. It had been so long since Schlatt had done anything like that. The feeling of his stern fingers combing through the duck fuzz of his wings. For a moment, Quackity experienced the visceral and all encompassing desire to do anything for that touch. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t show how much he wanted it though, and instead he turned to Schlatt and glared. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t have a sword.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We have hands for a reason, Big Q.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity lunged for the chicken and slipped in the mud, his face hot with shame. He leapt again and this time he caught the chicken under his hands and gripped it between his legs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It clicked and flapped its wings, slapping him in the face. Schlatt laughed. Quackity wanted to cry. He grabbed the neck of the chicken and jerked it to one side. The chicken squawked in pain but no snap came. He tried again, much harder. The neck snapped and the animal stopped moving. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stood up, the chickens head limp and hanging from its neck. He held it to his side and turned to stare at Schlatt, covered in mud. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then he started to cry. He wiped the tears away furiously, shaking with anger at himself for being weak and letting Schlatt see that he had gotten to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Schlatt turned to him with pity in his brown eyes and a look of contempt melting from his lips. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come here.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In a daze, Quackity walked towards him, his body and heart moving on their own accord. It was cold and he was in shock and he would follow any voice besides his own. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He came towards Schlatt and stared blankly at the ground.He felt Schlatt’s hands on his shoulder and he brings Quackity to his chest, putting a hand behind his head. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s ok.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity silently cried into him. Every inch of his mind screamed at him to kill him, do anything not just stand there and cry. But Schlatt’s embrace was something he hadn’t felt in so long and he had forgotten what this had felt like. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Schlatt lowered them to the ground and pulled Quackity to him, stroking him and whispering to him softly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Schlatt whispered in his ear. “Turn around for me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he didn’t move, Schlatt gentle turned him until he was facing Quackity’s wings. He pulled him between his legs and ran a finger along Big Q’s neck. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, let’s brush those wings now.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He began to run his fingers along through the fuzz of Quackity’s wings, combing along his spine. He rubbed them lightly, he knew how sensitive they could be. the pulled out the feathers that looked like the were going to fall off, and stroked the long ones that were sleek and shiny in the moonlight. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His fingers pried lose all the hate Quackity knew he needed. How could a man so gentle, so comforting, be capable of such evil? Surely this isn’t the war-monger they all screamed to kill? This man, sat here, running his fingers through the pale yellow fluff of his wings, this was the man Quackity wanted to know. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This was who he should have been with. This is the man who raised Tubbo. This was the man who Quackity should have met. This little glimpse threw them back in time, faster than any time machine. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Why couldn’t they have before? Before Manberg and Dream and Wilbur. Before all this pain and suffering and war. It’s not fair, not fair that Quackity had to wait until now to fall in love with something to broken. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Schlatt ran his fingers through for a last time and brought them to his neck again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Much better now.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re very good, very loyal. You know I’d never hurt you. My little duck.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity stared at the ground. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment, Quackity thinks the body moves and he jumps. Karl turns to stare at him, noticing the start.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You alright?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah just- I don’t know. I just thought he moved for a moment.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nope. He’s definitely...dead. Very, very dead.” He kicks the body and nothing happens. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna- wanna head home? I was going to have a movie night. Something peaceful. Like Cars, maybe. Make some nachos.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure- yeah. That would be nice, actually.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns to look back at the crumple of fabric and broken bottles. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just. I wish we’d met before, you know? This isn’t fair.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Karl stares at Quackity. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. Me too, Buddy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quackity couldn’t tell if he meant Schlatt or himself. He never asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
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